


Dungeon Witch: Ivy and Fern

by Pastel Comma (Regina_Hark)



Series: Dungeon Witch Griselda and Other Tall Tales [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Big Beautiful Woman, Consentacles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Delicious Flat Chest, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Falling In Love, Female Character of Color, Femslash, Fluff Is Good For You, Fluff and Smut, Height Differences, Incompetence Kink, Lesbian Sex, Light Bondage, PWP, Pining, Power Dynamics, Romantic Fluff, Rough Sex, Sappy Ending, Sex Magic, Spooning, Strangers to Lovers, Tentacle Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Useless Lesbians, Witch Culture, Witches, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regina_Hark/pseuds/Pastel%20Comma
Summary: Ivy is in a totally platonic relationship. Gals being pals. Girls hugging girls naked... Uh, you know, right after sex. Sex-spooning. And maybe the fact that she wants to see the same girl every morning and every night might mean she's in lov-





	

**Author's Note:**

> A off-shoot of a off-shoot. These two girls were set to feature in another fic but I liked them so much I gave them their own. The title comes from a poem called Witch-Wife by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
> 
> ~Some notes~  
> Wichelen are immature witches. They all have purple eyes but they are ranked by the color in the ring of their iris. Weaker wichelen such as Nettles and Yarrows have purple rings, practically invisible. Stronger wichelen, the full gambit from black to gold. 
> 
> And they, wichelen and witches, are considered a separate race from humans due to centuries of wars and secrecy.
> 
> All the characters in this fic are of age and above the age of eighteen.

Ivy stirred, strands of ocean-blue hair dive-bombing her miserable forehead. Her hairy menace of a mane free once again. She opened her eyes. The nook of the night, a tiny study room somewhere unimportant in the witch enclave, was bright in morning blue.

Anywhere important and she’d been walked in on by the other wichelen.

Yarrows and Nettles doing their chores. Violets and Lilies haunting the bookshelves.

Ivy tried to put a number on the blue. 5am or 4am. An hour before morning call, a generous guess, or an hour after morning call and no good excuse to explain why. Which was so likely, oh damn. Blue spilling on blue, the fluff of wild hair eager to blanket her sight, Ivy brushed the bushy bangs aside.

This was so not like her. Sleeping in. Staying calm.

Ivy wanted to blame the afterglow, you know, the flare up of old and new love bites getting acquainted on her midnight-made black skin. The ache of her hips. The pulsing pain that came from spreading thighs just a little too far and following up on an orgasm, which led to another orgasm, and, shocker, _another_ _orgasm_ , a little too much. She wasn’t quite sore. Not even that tired. But she wouldn’t call herself ready to face another day without throwing herself into a real bed as soon as possible.

Unimportant places in the enclave didn’t have good furniture.

Despite the plush red cushions doing well to hold up against her scrawny ass and heavy frame, it couldn’t completely stop the stiffness of the stone and metal that made up the couch. A casual three-seater that wasn’t supposed to be used longer than two hours at a time if you gave a regular fuck about your ass cheeks.

And besides the couches, four of them, two against each wall, there wasn’t much to look at.

A couple of bookshelves. Stone-made and immaculate despite aggressive fist-sized horn spiders trying to web up the upper shelves. Little bastards eyed Ivy up from across the room. Thinking that she wanted to take out a basic guide to witch-approved wart hexes and reference guides to surviving your first encounter with a Hero. No idiots. Keep your dusty ass over there and Ivy will keep her well-fucked ass over here.

Long tables sat in the middle of the study. Chairs missing thanks to whoever hauled them out.

Ivy rotated through her list of excuses in the back of her head. _She was late because_ … Fuck. _She wasn’t in the Ivy quarters cause_ … She had to have something usable. Okay. One more try. There was a good reason why she didn’t show up for morning call _and that was_ … Like reverse. It wasn’t that Ivy was _never_ late. She’d show up to whatever whenever as she damn well pleased.

But the problem was-

Ivy’s bangs flopped back into her face. Damn it. With this kinky hair, one cascading mess of short puffy corkscrew twists promising so much hassle to tame again, Ivy cursed. Coming up with decent bullshit was now the last thing on her mind.

Course, that wasn’t the whole truth.

Her hair was only a symptom. The real culprit had her cute chubby arms wrapped around Ivy’s twig-thin waist. That perfect mouth of hers, chewing, that’s right, _chewing_ , through the hair ties Ivy roped around her mane.

“You’re doing it again.” Ivy said to the air, hands gripping the cloth of the couch the two were snuggled up on. Two blankets tossed on top of their bodies. Mostly for modesty. Everything they should have been wearing -this was a study room, after all- was on the smooth stone floor next over. The ground well-dressed in a fumbling trail of skirts, shirts, shorts and modesty wrappings.

She bitched. “You said, you’d handle it.”

But again, the oral fixation, the sex, the afterwards -here and now- they were only more symptoms.

The problem required a two-step solution. First off, there was the obvious. The girl Ivy was seeing off and on, this shit not even official -not that wichelen like them ever did long-term fucks with rules or whatever- was sort of ruining her life.

And the not so obvious part was… _that_ … she kinda _liked_ it.

Why, one might ask? Being around her, Fern, was like-

“Fizzlewarts!” Fern snored, her bubbly babble a damn right nuisance. “Cacklemoss!”

But Ivy’s lips were doing that thing again. Muscle spasming. The tips of her mouth upturning without her active consent. She was… _smiling_. Limbs that should have been stiff, relaxed. Body that should have been moving through the door, not. Even as the inner spoon, the proof was there. That smile making itself comfortable on her face.

One Ivy well suited for frowns, grins and cackles.

Not, you know, smiles and dumb ooey-gooey faces brought about by being dumb about a girl.

And yet-

Fern made _her_ smile.

That sentence usually wasn’t too far out of her comfort zone.

Plenty of things made her smile. Tripping a Nettle. Pissing off bitches. Being the best wichelen of the Ivy because everyone knew she’s was the best. Best witch. Best bitch. And it wasn’t that uncommon that after a tryst, one just like this one, Ivy would smile cause the afterglow of multiple orgasm in the morning was better than a shot of hard cider.

But, again, that wasn’t the whole truth.

Fern _makes_ her smile.

See that little word there. _Makes_. That’s a fucking active thing. A spell with no end. A never-ending, as of now, loop of dumb feelings and goofy sighs and stupid smiles.

And how, how could Ivy handle that!

Breath in. Breath out. The morning light grew brighter, bolt-hole windows doing their best to outshine the orange torches on the walls. Stupid still, Ivy’s eyes felt drawn to her hand. All of that afterglow doing its best to make her remember. Bruises light. Smiles growing.

A memory flashed by in each blink. Backwards because her head wouldn’t let skip to only the important parts. Fingering. Spreading. Groping. Undressing. But what made Ivy feel the hottest, cheeks roasting, was that Fern’s lips had been on them.

Lips on her knuckles way before they’d even gotten down to it. Fucking.

Silly Fern treating her like a princess. _Her_. Kissing her hand before scrambling here for what should have been a quickie. And looked what happened. Late to morning call. Hair a mess. Nobody around for her to blame for it either. Any other tryst and Ivy would have been gone. Out. And yet-

“You’re doing it again.”

Ivy repeated, her voice shaky and full of that _dumbness_. Lighter than it should have been. Quieter than what was needed.

“You said, you’d handle it.”

Which is ha-ha hilarious because Ivy’s been trying to handle the smiling and softening and lack of bullshiting by having just one last fuck and be on her way. And that was supposed to happen two weeks ago.

So far, her solution to this problem, was to somehow get Fern to leave first.

Literally and metaphorically.

So, again, you know, and this hard for her to think about, so she doesn’t have to _explain_ why-

Fern moaned, a snugly war-cry to her next attack on Ivy’s non-existent heartstrings. Brown arms wandered up, fingers and warm flesh unknowingly caressing Ivy’s belly. Ivy shivered, rubbing up into it. Fern’s arms met resistance against the underside of Ivy’s breasts, small dollops of softness topped with dark nipples.

And of course, Fern would be a wichelen who wouldn’t know a thing about keeping her hands to herself.

Fern’s scarred hand outright groped Ivy’s breast. Callouses and healing skin an odd texture to experience again and again on her tenderest of flesh. Nipples hardening like they were waiting for this. For Fern to seduce like she always has. Sweetly. Softly. Fern’s other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling Ivy closer.

And there was no excuse why Ivy was still here. None. And so Ivy was going to stay here until she could find one better than the obvious.

Her and her feelings for… _Fuck_.

As much as Fern said she didn’t mind their height difference, Ivy a good two heads over her, Fern’s sleeping self said otherwise. Her soft feet kicked gently into the backside of Ivy’s knees, making them bend and curl. Shrinking the divide as Fern drifted between almost awake and sleepily horny.

Ivy gave, tucking her limbs as much as possible. Weak to the awfulness in her stomach.

With Ivy’s hair ties out of the way, Fern was free to plant herself in Ivy’s mane. Nose sweet to feel as she nuzzled like a bear, lips searching and wandering as they pressed up against Ivy’s scalp.

To keep common sense somewhere in this equation, Ivy struggled to convince a toe to meet the floor.

Before this -here and now, her and Fern-, Fern had been rather persistent when it came to Ivy. Nothing obvious at first. A complement here. A complement. Flattery that Ivy expected being better than all. And then Fern’s needling praise dug deeper. Talk of Ivy’s long and lanky frame. Awe to her hair color. Ocean-blue. A shade none of them had seen for years outside of picture books.

Praise that went beyond the brown-nosing necessities.

And Ivy wasn’t all that different from every other Ivy of her name. The best, sure. The most uncommon, hell no. Wichelen ranked from Weed to Flower. The rare the color, the more powerful the witch. And ocean-blue wasn’t the color of the Ivy. They both knew it.

But Fern, the way she talked, Ivy was the only one who could _rock_ it. _Wear_ it. _Be it_.

And somehow it didn’t sound like complete shit when it came out her stuttering mouth.

When they actually crossed hairs however months ago, Ivy wasn’t waging a war against the cute teeth of a cute girl. Her hair was on point. Straightened to keep it in check. Simpler. Smarter. Shorter. Ivy didn’t have much more than a cheek-kissing bob, the bangs razor-sharp and bring all attention to her purple eyes.

The eternal struggle whipped into submission by magic and a decent hot comb.

All that ruined by Fern and her clumsy self, spilling a vat of nux oil over her and the rest of the wichelen working in a cauldron chamber. The moment her magic reverted and hair sprung and puffed up like the back of a sheep’s ass, Fern went from complements to drooling. Everywhere.

“Can I carry that?”, “Can I help with this?”, “Can I…?”

And maybe Ivy was just as soft then as now.

Earns well-tuned to catch fake words and cling-ons looking for something useless when it came to-

 

* * *

 

Fern’s purple eyes glittered, full cheeks deep and dangerous with that smile of her bringing her dimples out to play. “You’re so pretty, Ivy. Jumping Jills. I figure you already know that.” she said, hovering like a bear would around a beehive. Close enough to dream. Far enough to not get stung. “If I had a face like yours, they might need to assemble a team of Nettles to drag me from the grand mirror.” Blushing.

The fool having to lift her head to meet Ivy’s eyes.

Acting like she wasn’t wearing a pair of heels to ease the trouble of her sore neck.

“Focus on the tome.” Ivy said, wrinkling her nose as she turned the page. “Or else, I can take my pretty self out of here.”

Ivy wasn’t sure when it happened. The two of them actually spending time together.

Fern followed her almost everywhere but Ivy being presently here wasn’t Fern’s doing. Ever so often, because Fern still had actual responsibilities and shit to report, the little love-sick fool wouldn’t be around nipping at Ivy’s heels. And for some reason, a dumb reason -a lonely reason-, Ivy would walk through all the study halls and cauldron chambers until she came across a headful of green leafy hair.

Looking at her and Fern, they couldn’t be any less alike.

Fern was like a gourd given life. Clay-brown. Short. She’d seemed to make up for her height by being big and plump. Wide thighs sitting on thick hips sitting on big legs. Her hair forest-green, frizzy cowlicks sticking up whichever way, two pigtails that ending in leaflets of oddball fern leaf. Unlike Ivy who wore vibrant single colors like crimson and teal and goldenrod, Fern kept herself plain in pastels and browns.

Even now she was doing it.

Leaning up on the table in a coral-pink shawl and a long skirt striped in faded lines of blue and red. And somehow they matched. Ivy wearing a short single of a dress. Arrow-shaped buttons of alternating blue and red. The dress itself a softer red that wasn’t overpowered by Fern’s pink.

When Fern wasn’t looking, Ivy’s eyes roamed over the wichelen. Unable to keep it in check.

Girls are pretty but Fern was... prettier. Shit. Fern’s beginning to rub off on her.

“Aw, don’t do that.” Fern whined, bringing Ivy out from her thoughts. “We’re making progress.”

Progress? What a joke.

They were on the second floor of a charm library, the lower deck abandoned by other wichelen who read their books, wrote their scroll charms and left like normal people. But could Fern do that? Nah.

“How’s that scroll coming?” Ivy asked. “You’ve made the third one right?”

“I was supposed to make three?”

Ivy groaned, bringing her fingers to massage the bridge of her nose. Headache incoming.

She forced herself to keep her eyes on the book.

Not a single glance to the left where Fern was standing. Her handwriting atrocious. Her magic pooling poor. Fern’s hands dark with wasted obsidian ink. The trailing liquid sinking in the front of her skirt and shawl. Fern would eventually get the job done. Otherwise a witch would have long punted Fern’s sorry ass out of the enclave but Fern would never be clean afterwards. A walking mess made from whatever she was to make. Her work making the rules instead of it being the other way around.

And that was half the reason Ivy liked to find her. Someone had to keep an eye on this fool.

And if Ivy looked now, she might feel the need to, shudder, help.

“Ivy, can ya see if I did it right?”

Eyes forward. Words sparse.

“Nope.”

“But there’s smoke coming out one of the scrolls.”

“Tragic.” Ivy murmured. “I’m sure you know how to work a reversal charm.”

Fern huffed. “I do.” she sniffled. “But in the opposite of reversal. Err, forversal. See?”

“Wait!”

Fern activated the unfinished scroll and got a nasty glob of cindersap for her trouble.

The oozing mass of ash-gray goop splattered down into the crook of Fern’s top and streamed down into wax-like splotches on the floor. Ivy turned on impulse and regretted it instantly.

She stared, eyes trapped as she took it all in.

Fern sticky and still acting like she didn’t have a bucket’s worth of tree snot on her clothes. Hands a foamy ploppy mess as the ink and sap interacted as she went right back to it. Trying to channel her magic to make a standard charm scroll.

As the goop clung and dripped, Ivy found her eyes following each drop as it sunk in. Fern’s clothes growing transparent as the cindersap tried to combine with her fabric and hide itself from view. Another one of its magical properties up to no good. Ivy gulped, breath growing thin. It wasn’t only Fern carrying quite a set of assets on her chest but how it came to be. Fern being terrible at charms.

“You’re a walking disaster, you know that? Just stop what you are doing.”

Fern put her hands on her hips, hand-prints ruining that skirt, choosing now to have a backbone.

“Some of us don’t mind getting a little- Hey!”

“Lift your arms.”

Ivy snapped her fingers.

The tips of her bob-cut hair turned into blue vines and angled around Fern’s front.

“Do you always have to make a mess?” she said, moving to tower over Fern. “Have some common sense. You cannot, I repeat, cannot conduct a charm scroll while wearing a substance that hates charms.” Ivy dragged a finger through the fluid, the cindersap squirming from the magic under its tip. “Cindersap is no joke. Do you really want me to be the one to drag your sticky, messy, yummy self back to Witch Azalea and explain why you wasted a-”

“You think I’m _yummy_?”

“Stick to the point. Like you should be kissing my ass for being here. I don’t have to help you.”

“I can’t believe _Ivy_ thinks I’m yummy.”

Ivy’s vines wiped most of the sap on Fern’s shawl away but there was still a good amount right under.

Fern blushed even harder, something that should have been impossible with her tawny skin. The tentacle-like vines shifted under Ivy’s darker thoughts. They tugged around the hem of the shawl, peeling up the glop-coated material. “I wasn’t, uh- We Ferns go all naturale-” Fern wore little to nothing underneath. “I wear shawls for a reason, Ivy! Stop staring so hard!”

Washed-out modesty bandages looped around a hearty bust of fat and full breasts.

“You have some jaw-dropping titties.”

“Gah!” Fern clapped her hands on her ears, her tits quaking all the while. “Don’t call them that.”

Ivy snorted. “Titties?”

“That too.” Fern blurted. “But don’t call them...”

“Jaw-dropping?”

Fern’s eyes looked everywhere else. Cheeks on the verge of exploding because of that smile claiming her flustered face. She gave Ivy a light shove but latched her hands around Ivy’s waist, clutching on and rubbing through the fabric with an intimate implication. Fern’s knee tapped against Ivy’s upper thigh. A silent gesture for Ivy to spread her legs a little more. Form the tree-position as Fern called it.

Ivy followed along. Opening her stance and boxing Fern in. Arms on the table. Knees between legs.

“Magnificent?” Ivy prodded. Face so close. “Stunning? Incredible? Gorgeous?”

“I can’t Ivy is calling my own boobs gorgeous.” Fern whispered. “My boobs.” she swooned.

Gray wichelen-blessed freckles decorated Fern’s chunky belly and round mid-waist. A constellation of stars and dips and the cutest belly button that was the black sun in this creamy void.

Ivy’s vines touched where she wouldn’t.

Lightly brushing against Fern’s skin.

Touching. Learning. Wanting.

“Think about my heart here!” Fern squeaked, and without a lick of shame, pushed her breasts out further. “I’m getting cleaned by the prettiest wichelen in Enclave Hillhite. If I was human, this would be it. I would have one of those heart explosions.”

“Heart attacks.” Ivy corrected. “And what you talking about? Wichelen don’t have hearts.”

“My stone heart then.” Fern carried on. “But it’s clear what you’re doing here. Taking advantage.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m helping you.”

Fern giggled, one eyebrow wiggling. “ _Get naked_.”

“Keep talking and I’m going to stick one of my vines into your mouth.”

“Oh. Like this?”

Fern hooked a finger around a vine and lifted up to her mouth. She stuck out her tongue, a pink little thing, and slid it around the plant limb. Things like thoughts and dignity became la-la-la in Ivy’s head. The sensation of Fern’s tongue traveled down the vine and into Ivy, mouth falling open to give out one gasping groan sounding more like pain than anything normal.

Fern stopped, looking concerned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Nu-no.” Ivy cleared her throat. She didn’t remember swallowing a cat’s heat-fueled yowls. “No.”

Her vines quivered in unison.

The ocean-blue of their tips darkened into berry-bright purple, heads unsheathing before Ivy’s eyes. The skin sagged. Folds of blue and purple flesh wrinkling together to create thick and flared bulbous buds. Thin slits of oozing clear honey-yellow liquid on each one.

Ivy regarded them with mild surprise.

She didn’t know they could do that. Never having someone be dumb enough to put them in their mouth.

Herself included.

Fern licked her lips.

“Ivy, your vines are so pretty.”

Why did Fern always sound like she meant it? Really meant it. Would die for it if she had to, the fool.

Pretty was a weak word when it came to complementing someone. Ivy had been called beautiful, mysterious, divine and perfect by just everyone worth talking to. But when Fern said it, it wasn’t just words, it was a fact. And Ivy wanted to hear that fact almost everyday.

Fern shook hands with each one, still dripping ink and sap all the while. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

Ivy crossed her arms, trying not to get excited. Keep it cool. It was only Fern.

“But don’t think you’re getting special treatment. Just one and then you get back to your scrolls.”

Fern went to the nearest vine and just kissed it. Smooching like a virgin. All messy with teeth and lips and slobber. Her lips warm and right as they pressed against the vine skin. The thin slit widening, the flesh around it roused, and it dripped more of that filmy fluid.

Ivy huffed, the heat and pleasure of the vine matching up with her hardening clit.

Eyes busy, Ivy paid no mind to the hands tiptoeing along her lean thigh. Even when they lifted up the bottom of her dress. Rough-feeling fingers first grazing the softness of her inner thighs, then the hip-hugging cut of her panties. A thumb planted itself between the middle of her cloth-covered pussy lips. Slowly but steadily pressing through. For its effort, it was rewarded with a more familiar trickle of feminine fluid. The liquid pleasure readily made by her horny hole.

Fern moved her lips around the vine, encouraging the slit into opening more and more. Ivy’s was starting to lose her balance. Her hips and thigh jerking along in tune to the sway of her stiffening vine. Even with just a thumb grinding through her lower lips, she was just about- A few seconds later, the vine squirted. The plant fluid hitting hot and fast on Fern’s chin.

Less than a lifetime after that, Ivy was next.

The orgasm wasn’t a normal one. Something that started from her clit and just had to chat with every twitching nerve her body had to offer. It was duller. Stranger. Her focus switching from where it should have been. Her vines throbbing in need. Her pussy gushing like a faucet. Ivy’s head fogged over. Witch know-how being sub-planted, ha, by the wordless crave of her namesake.

Ivy draped herself along Fern, lips kissing chubby cheeks and hand palming the rest of her clothes.

“Uh Ivy, you there?”

Fern’s words were distant like a ship far past the shore.

“Guess I’m better than I thought.” Fern snorted, free hands pulling off Ivy’s soaked underwear. “And it’s you, you know. Better than every thought. You’re pretty but you’re pretty.” she said, happy to run her mouth. “I like how scrunch your nose at a word you don’t like. I like how you part your hair when you’re worried. Clock-wise, good mood. Counter clock-wise, better remember to hand you a snack.”

“Am I really that pretty?” Ivy mumbled, dazed. "You keep flinging that word around like that and it'll get it's own dictionary and language."

“Yeah.”

Fern’s tongue came out, swiping at the plant fluid around her mouth. “Tangy. We could bottle this- Later! Whoa.” she babbled, licking with gusto. The vine’s bulbous head grew, swelling to the size of a small apple. Her tongue went back to the slit, diving in and out.

Ivy rocked on her feet. Knees growing weak. She dragged her hands along the table. Books and scrolls quaking right off.

She tried to keep her panting low. Quiet. Lips swelling from how much she was biting them. Thighs rubbing from the heat growing between them. Each vine seemed directly connected to all her weak points and they were feed her an overflowing supply of unadulterated pleasure. Ivy’s hips rocked back and forth in a writhing dance. Not enough friction around her clit to take this to the next level but too much pleasure that Ivy could ignore.

Fern watched her. Voice missing that girly gleam. “You really like this, huh Ivy? My pretty, pretty Ivy.”

Ivy opened her mouth to tell her yet again to shut up but her voice came out as a squeak.

The air between them was different. Sexually charged but more than that, Ivy felt off-balanced. Short when she should have been tall. Chasing when she should have catching. Their roles have switched. Ivy and Fern now Clingy Ivy and Binding Fern.

Vines wrapped around Fern’s wrists, tying them together and lifting them up her head.

“Ivvvyyy...” Fern moaned, pushing her knee up to rub against Ivy’s leg. “ _Tighter_.”

Ivy increased her grip, Fern firmly caught with little wiggle worm for her to escape. Vines went to Fern’s chest, pulling away her modesty wrapping. Fern’s round tits swung out, the brown flesh freckled around her collarbone and curving around her breasts. The vines ringed around each mound, squeezing until redness bloomed under the surface.

“Can you-?”

Whatever she was about to say next was lost when Ivy sent her vines to curl around Fern’s caressing leg. They weaved up and around her knee and tugged it up, forcing Fern to stand on one foot and on Ivy as a support. Her long skirt risen and ruffled, Fern grinded against her. Rubbing her pussy through the tantalizing barrier of her skirt.

“Can I do what?”

“Could you give me a kiss?” Fern averted her eyes. “ _Down there_?”

“That’s not kissing.” Ivy said, hoisting Fern up to lay on the desk. Her skirt left to be a fabric puddle on the floor. “That’s me eating you out with my good, _good_ tongue.” Ivy smirked, hands pushing apart bubbly thighs.

“But kissing sounds cuter.”

“I bet it would be even cuter if you used the nastier words once in a while.” Ivy noted, not expecting much.

Fern blinked, cheeks redder than before.

“Can you fuck my... cunt?”

Ivy laughed, teeth and gums out to play as she cracked up like a fool. “Say that _again_. Do it, you pretty, pretty thing.” she purred.

“Can you pretty please," Fern prayed, even making the gesture. "fuck my sexy and yummy cunt?”

“Since you asked so nicely-”

Ivy bent low and licked one thorough stripe of Fern’s pink shivering folds. She moved leisurely, massaging the sweet flesh, licking around Fern’s stiff clit and the sweetness sinking out of her lovely hole. Fern’s hips bucked. Her hot mound pushing into Ivy’s face, smearing her with that fragrant juice. Hole wanting something to go inside. Ivy lapped at Fern’s clit, counting the tremors as the wichelen got close to release. “Iv-Ivy, I’m about to-!”

At the last moment, Ivy moved back to that hole and slipped her tongue inside and hit up.

Some girls had their weak spot right at the entrance. Other girls further within. And when it came to Fern, “Oh spite, oh spite, oh spite!” Fern arched, her pussy walls squeezing Ivy’s tongue, muscles contracting to pull it further inside. “Fizzlewarts!” Ivy laughed in her head, swirling her pink limb to drag out Fern’s climax. Thrusting with her tongue and using her hand to tease her clit until it hurt.

“How are you doing up there- oh shit! Warn a-” Ivy's complaints fell away, her mouth invaded those damn kitty-sounding yowls.

Fern sucked on the vine’s head, coaxing out more liquid as she lewdly gulped it down.

Then she popped it in, teeth grazing the crinkled flesh passing through her puffy lips. Ivy felt the smile Fern made, her desire for Ivy’s vine hard to deny. Fern glowed, eyes dark, lips sucking with fever. The vine moved back and forth, plunging deep and hard into Fern’s willing mouth.

Ivy threw back her head, panting and gasping and groaning, almost willing to turn into filthy moaning.

The vines around Fern’s breasts pushed their heads against her pebbly nipples. Their slits lining up with the nubs and taking them inside, clenching and twisting the bundles of sweet flesh. Fern moaned, voice muffled by the vine in her mouth. Sap escaping around her lips.

The vine shot off, flooding Fern’s mouth in a river of gooey slime. Her gulps crude to hear. It went on longer than the first time. Fern swallowing and swallowing. The trickling slime falling onto her jerking body, drying quick and fast to flake into a pollen-like substance. Where the slime touched, an irresistible aroma arose, sending the vines into a frenzy of groping and spewing more plant fluid over it. Fern’s belly inflated, stretching up and around as the fluid swept into her womb. Once it was a certain size, three times bigger than before, Ivy’s vine retracted from Fern’s mouth.

What did this mean?

Ivy gawked at this fertile Fern, full and brimming with her fluid, and this all-consuming desire to seed her.

“Ivy~” Fern whined, “Put it in m-”

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Ivy_.” Fern whined, nosing Ivy’s hair. “Put it in me.”

Back in the present, a sea of vines startled awake, vinning around sleepy-eyed Fern who was trying to climb on top. Ivy helped her up, the blankets tumbling aside as Fern perked up. A morning nightmare.

“Morning.” she chirped, heavy hips grinding down. “Did you sleep well?”

“How can you talk with my hair ties in your mouth?” Ivy said instead. “We talked about this.”

Fern gasped. “I can’t be held responsible for what I do in my sleep! I’ve been hexed! A curse!”

Ivy lifted up a finger and plucked Fern’s nose.

“You keep on eating my hair ties, you’re going to get sick. What will I do then? Hobble around while carrying you in my arms?”

Fern leaned forward, her nipples dragging across Ivy’s skin, soft and slow.

“I’ll stop eating your hair ties when you stop feeling me up in my sleep.”

“ _I’m_ the one doing the feeling up here?”

Fern opened her mouth, her tongue carrying the familiar shone of Ivy’s sap.

“I don’t remember doing that.”

“That’s why I’m here to do it for you.” Fern lifted herself up, spreading her legs and showing her hole well-fucked. Pussy gaping and coated in slimely sliver from the plant fluid. “The reason why I nibble-”

“Gnaw.”

“ _Nibble_.” Fern pressed. “Is because if I don’t have one of your vines in my mouth, then it will wind up in my rump.” Fern looked away, tapping her cheek. “And it takes forever to drain out. There I am in the showers, one leg up, going, come on, come on and it’s still dripping out. Then I remember where it came from and I get horny and finger myself which isn’t helping the situation at all.”

“You finger yourself while thinking about me in the shower?”

“Is that the only thing you heard?”

Ivy laughed, smile feeling both wrong and right on her lips.

“I chose the best subject in that sentence, yes.”

Fern moved down and Ivy sat up to catch her halfway, lips meeting for what would likely not be the last time of today. The kiss was fun and easy on the mouth despite the morning breath and the taste of tongue without some mint leaf aside. Ivy nibbled along Fern’s lip. Fern lip-smacked Ivy’s tease. It was well as it went. Her nose twitched, Fern’s dimpling cheeks hardly concealing her infectious smile. Passing it back and forth, they kissed and smooched and made-out like they weren’t sitting on a stone’s version of hell naked and missing breakfast.

Ivy’s vines weaved around them, entangling Fern in willowy blue.

Tendrils of all shapes and sizes roped around the joint of her arms and legs. Hoisting her up to suspend in the air. Fern floating above, looking like a little forest spirit that stepped out an elder tree, was a gift that kept on giving. Ivy twirled her, letting Fern spin in a slow circle. Fern’s green hair spun out of their hair ties, leaflets dangling and tiny buds of fern flowers raining down.

“ _Ivy_...”

“I’m enjoying the view.”

Ivy smirked. The vines around Fern’s legs coiled, spreading Fern’s knees apart and wide. She sent up a studded tendril, the vine bumpy and ridged the way Fern always liked it. The studded vine prodded Fern’s p-word lips, grinding up and down her puffy folds. Another vine, bud-headed, circled Fern’s ass. Loud thwaps soon followed as it smacked her fat cheeks, bloom-shaped bruises dotting her tender skin.

“Ivy.”

“You know,” Ivy leered. “if I help you drain it, can I have at your ass?”

“Maybe.” Fern giggled. “But you should work for it. I’m doing all the hard work here.”

Ivy raised a brow.

“Are you?”

“Of course. Don’t mind your precious pretty head about it.”

For her cheeky comments, Ivy sent three corkscrew vines straight up her ass. Lubed but still a bitch to take so early in the morning. Ivy tilted Fern up, wanting to see her work. Fern’s rim stretched to its limit, the vines swirling inside and loosening her up. Ivy wasn’t that mean.

The corkscrew vines were her thinnest but their fat bases on the other hand.

“You ready for the real event?”

Fern threw her hips back, as useless as she could move without Ivy’s permission, on them.

“Not that, you scatterbrain. This.”

Ivy plucked a strand of hair from her head and transformed into a root-less vine. She cocked opened her legs, touching her clit and spreading her feminate fluid around to make sure she was wet and ready. Then she slotted it in, the vine squirming as it went inside. Pushing apart her inner walls while throbbing like a real, living thing. She thrusted up into it, getting into position.

“I thought you wanted my butt?”

Ivy dropped Fern, letting a little bounce from the fall drive the corkscrew vines further in.

“Can’t I also want,” Ivy‘ s voice fell into a whisper. “everything. Why should I have to chose?”

Fern tilted her hips and sank on the vine shared between them, moaning all the while. Beautiful.

“Out of words, Fen-Head?”

Fern blinked, eyes misty. “I’m on the clock now.” She grinned.

Their roles switched again. Ivy felt the vine shift inside of her, latching onto Fern and sprouting little tendrils to drape across Fern’s waist to keep it in one place. Ivy loosened Fern’s binds, rubbing but not holding in place any longer. Only for pretty decoration as Fern began to move. Her thrust starting slow and deep, each pull almost out, each push almost slamming straight into her womb.

Ivy closed her eyes, reclining for her silly Fern.

Fern’s hands brushing across Ivy’s dark skin. Fingers squeezing and twisting her black nipples. Mouth lapping across her skin, licking up fresh sweat and sap splattering everywhere. Fern pushed in, Ivy’s inner walls giving way. Quivering. Overflowing as the sap from the vine spewed in, the overflow gushing right back out. Bathing the back of her thighs in sticky goodness.

Ivy lifted her hips, trying to change the tempo of their casual pace.

Fern gripped her hips and kissed her belly right before blowing a damn raspberry right on it. Ivy smiled. Weakness. And Fern went straight for it. Her thrusts picking up, swifter and smoother. She plunged in, ramming against Ivy’s bundles of sensitive flesh. Each hit causing her vision to whiten, stars attempting to reclaim their star child, as Fern attempted to fuck her into the next life.

“Fern...”

“Yes, you pretty, pretty thing? Say my name. Say it some more!” The power clearly gone to her head.

“ _Fern_!”

Fern pivoted her hips, changing the angle of her thrusts. Ivy screamed, hands looping around Fern’s shoulders and pulling her close. Their stomach met, flesh on slick sweaty flesh, and she clawed in, desperate and delirious and so over her head with Fern that she couldn’t make sense of it. And whatever this was. A friendship, a relationship and match made in insanity, she wouldn’t be outdone.

Ivy followed Fern’s lead, lifting herself up and meeting every thrust head-on.

Ah! There it was. Her climax sweeping up, small and growing, like the light from a light tower. Licking her hips, Ivy threw her head back. Wordless noise taking up space in her head. Her heels dug deep in the cushion, ankles sliding without reprieve. Fern rocked above her. Green hair, green spells and green smiles that should have never, ever been apart of Ivy’s world. But Ivy yanked on Fern’s neck and mashed their lips together. An ugly kiss. A desperate kiss full of things she didn’t want to understand. Fern kissed back. A perfect kiss. A sensible kiss stuffed with things she did.

Ivy came, orgasm as straightforward as the woman it came from. It scattered inside of her and went straight to harvest, her knees, feet, hands, thighs, hips, back and body all in chaotic motion. She clung to Fern, shaking the both of them. And Fern wasn’t too late after. Hips making short thrusts before they outright bounced, Fern finishing herself out with a shout and accidentally rolling them right off the couch.

On the floor, messy and hot, they laid on top of each other. Trying to get on top.

“I like you.” a voice said. "There. I said it. With the sex. Without the sex. Either or but I'd like to have both, honestly."

“Well, I love you.” said another.

“But _I_ love you more.”

“This doesn’t have to be a contest.”

“But I prefer it that way. Sometimes, I’m the best. And sometimes, rarely, probably never, you’re the best.”

“Aw, Ivy.”

A pause.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“You think I’m the best?”

“Best lover. Best friend. Best partner. Compared to me, anyways.”

“Ivy thinks I’m the best.”

“I don’t think.” A soft glance. “I know.”


End file.
